


the distribution of power

by finalizer



Series: immortal longings [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Emperor Hux, M/M, and kylo is taking none of his shit, hux is paranoid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-18 19:03:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5939767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finalizer/pseuds/finalizer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You would do well to remember I do not answer to you — "<br/>Ren tightens his grip almost viciously and Hux can't stop his legs from collapsing under him as his vision swims and he drops to his knees. "<i>Do not forget who made you emperor</i>."</p>
            </blockquote>





	the distribution of power

**Author's Note:**

> • snoke is long dead, by kylo's hand, and hux lets his newly acquired power get to his head  
> • aka as much as i adore the concept of ren as hux's personal attack dog, i don't think he'd blindly go along with all of hux's whims

It spirals out of control as usual, tension visibly rippling through Ren’s form in waves, leaving Hux with just enough time to order the guards out of the hall before hell breaks loose, before Ren unleashes his frustration. Hux thinks it’s appalling, he always has, how easy it is for Ren to lose his temper and raise his voice at him, instantaneously undermining Hux’s authority before countless spectators like it’s never meant anything to him.

The door slams shut, the sound echoing throughout the chamber.

"Is this entirely necessary?" Hux demands immediately, the moment they’re alone. "Your juvenile nonsense? There's regulations, and you're to abide by them — no matter how highly you think of yourself, Ren, you are not above following direct orders."

"From you," Ren spits back, and it's an accusation as much as an observation.

Hux shifts in his seat, his grandiose _throne_ in the center of the great hall, and curses himself for hesitating. He knows Ren needs mere seconds to best him given the right chance, given the smallest window of opportunity to see Hux falter.

"From me," he confirms, and waits for Ren to lash out.

Instead, Ren steps closer to the dais, one of his hands clenched tightly in his robes, as though physically trying to restrain himself from obliterating everything in sight.

"I never have," he seethes, "nor will I _ever_ take orders from you."

The raw finality with which he spits the words strikes a nerve and Hux finds himself rising to his feet before his mind registers what his body is doing. He pushes off the throne, his knuckles sore from how hard he'd been gripping the armrests to keep himself collected. 

"I am the highest authority," Hux says, tone barely above a low hiss, tearing at the seams with poorly restrained irritation. "Not you, not anyone. _Me_. You've no right to make decisions concerning the movements of the Order without my approval, my _explicit_ permission."

"You forget we’re equals," Ren counters. "I pledged my loyalty to you, but never blind servitude — I’m not one of your troops that you can send off to their deaths when you’re done pretending they matter. You forget everything I did to get you to where you are now; you dare to act like you could have done it on your own."

"I very well could have," Hux bites out. "Thank you for the commentary, Ren, it’s greatly unappreciated, I assure you."

 _"Shut up_ , Hux. A cog in the machine, is what you were — one of Snoke’s toys, not so different from myself. And you would have remained that way, following his every petty command had I not taken matters into my own hands, had I not handed you the power you so desperately craved on _a damn silver platter."_

"Watch yourself, Ren."

"You guard yourself like you’re afraid," Ren spits, taking another step closer to Hux, "that I’ll come in here one day and disregard everything we’ve accomplished together and overthrow your immaculate balance. Believe me, _my lord_ , that if I’d intended to seize your power I wouldn’t have let you take that seat in the first place. Whatever you’re holding against me is your paranoia dictating your actions, not my movements against you."

"You don’t frighten me."

Ren smirks, a cruel twist of the lips that doesn’t reach his eyes. "Perhaps not. But my power does — that you cannot deny."

"You’re an infant, playing with forces you could never hope to control."

"And that’s why you’ve dismissed me from your rooms every night?" Ren demands, and it’s audible in his tone, palpable in the dropping temperature, that Hux had succeeded in steering him towards his breaking point. "Not because you’re afraid to drop your guard around me as you sleep, but because you’re worried for me, that I’ll lose my handle on my abilities and what –- hurt _myself_? You feel threatened, Hux, you try to contain me in fear of my insubordination. Stop making a fool of yourself and admit it."

"I’ll no sooner admit to fearing you than I would to being an damn enemy spy," Hux bites back, unable to suppress the outrage marring his tone, to keep himself from outright shouting. "You truly hold yourself in high regard, Ren, with presumptions like those. You see yourself as a threat to me and assume I see you the same way — I regret to tell you _I do not_. You’re utterly insignificant. You’re _nothing_."

Hux barely hears his own words, doesn’t register Ren storming the few steps up onto the dais; until his breath is effectively cut off: Ren’s hand enclosed around his neck, an entirely stronger force squeezing his lungs, the pressure against his windpipe near crushing enough to snap it in half.

"You mock what you do not understand," Ren snarls, inches from Hux’s face, undeterred by Hux’s attempts at struggling free of his vice grip, "and you won’t admit it’s all because you are afraid."

Hux makes a futile attempt at tugging Ren’s hand off his neck, his own fingers weakly grabbing at Ren’s unrelenting hold; his head is spinning, searing pain spreading from his neck as his vision blurs and blackens, and Ren’s twisted sneer begins to dissipate into nothing.

"You’re afraid of me," Ren goes on, almost conversationally, disregarding Hux’s panicked effort at writhing free, the sheer terror in his eyes as his ragged breaths grow shallower, his lungs refusing to cooperate, "of _this_ ; this power I hold over you. You may have command of your precious Order — of the entire fucking galaxy, for all I care — but you will never control _this_."

Hux thinks how easy it would be to stop fighting, to stop resisting the quiet nothing calling to him from the darkness that dances across his sight. He doesn’t hear Ren’s threats, not entirely, though he does not need to, not to understand that he’s enraged.

"You would do well to remember I am not one of your underlings, that I do not answer to you." Ren tightens his grip almost viciously before finally, blessedly letting go, and Hux can't stop his legs from collapsing under him as his vision swims and he drops to his knees; a shattering pain shooting up his arm as he braces his fall onto the cold marble; the other hand futilely grasping at his collar.

"Do not forget who made you emperor," Ren growls from above him, words laced with warning, with promise of _more_ , should Hux choose to deserve it.

Hux gingerly lifts his fingers to his neck, fails to suppress a hiss of pain as the bruised skin throbs in reply. His lungs burn and he finds himself incapable of swallowing gasps of air fast enough to relieve the nausea clouding his senses, to escape the dread clawing its way up his throat as the pressure on his windpipe refuses to subside.

He does not dare to look up until he hears Ren’s footsteps receding down the hall; doesn’t dare to move until his breathing evens out enough for him to see clearly. He ignores the crushing weight of his ruined throat, and the awareness of the splatter of bruises already forming against his pale skin.

Unable to stand, he pushes himself backwards across the floor and leans heavily against his throne — he can hear Ren’s mocking tone in his head, _look_ _how the mighty have fallen,_ and he’s not sure whether it’d been his imagination — one hand protectively, irrationally, still shielding his neck.

Hux forcibly clears his mind; doesn’t allow himself to give Ren the satisfaction of picking up the distress he’s broadcasting.

Then, he shuts his eyes and doesn’t allow himself to admit he’s afraid.

 

 


End file.
